by Nancy Thayer
“Oh, stop it!” Alice said. “That man left his country for you! He took a job at B.U. You two have the most romantic real-life relationship I’ve heard about for years! Now tell me, are you making any plans for your wedding?”
“We haven’t had a chance to plan anything,” Marilyn answered. “It’s all we can do to keep the house going, with Ruth, Angus, and now Fiona living there. Just buying groceries, cooking, and doing the laundry is overwhelming.” She looked guilty. “I really shouldn’t have left Ian with all that.”
“Nonsense,” Faye told her. “You filled Ruth’s freezer with a week’s worth of food, right? The other three are all adults who can take care of themselves. You deserve a break.”
“You’re right, I suppose. Still…you haven’t seen Fiona. She’s our age, but she’s so voluptuous.”
“And she’s recently widowed,” Polly reminded her.
“But she’s not an independent kind of woman,” Marilyn said. “I mean, she makes it clear she needs a man in her life. I’m afraid she wants Ian. He was the one she phoned when her husband died. She didn’t stay in Scotland with all her other friends. And she’s always reminding Ian of all the fun things they did together when they were younger….” Marilyn broke off, looking out at the horizon with a frown on her face.
“Well, then.” Alice straightened in her seat. “If you’re serious about this, we’ve got to take it seriously, too. Call Ian and invite him down here.”
Marilyn shook her head. “No. This is supposed to be a Hot Flash week. And if I can’t trust Ian with Fiona for a week, I’d better learn about it now.”
“I think you’re right, Marilyn,” Faye agreed.
Alice rolled the cold water bottle over her chest. “Here we are, in paradise, and still worrying. You’re worrying about Ian. I’m worrying about Alan and Jennifer. Polly’s sad because she broke off with Hugh, and Faye’s feeling guilty because she’s drifted away from Aubrey. And Shirley…” She looked quizzically at Shirley, who suddenly got very busy cutting the chocolate cake. “Shirley, you’re looking kind of marvelous these days. What’s going on?”
“Oh!” Shirley concentrated fiercely on putting the dessert on plates. “I’m just having such a wonderful vacation here. All the sun and fresh air!”
Alice looked suspicious, but allowed herself to be distracted by the nice big slice of chocolate cake Shirley handed her.
“I know what you mean about worrying,” Faye said to Alice. “I’ve been thinking about it a lot since I’ve been on the island. I think I’m insulated from anxiety about my grandchildren because they’re so far away, out in California. I remember how much I used to worry whenever my daughter had a slight cold or cough—I immediately feared she had some serious disease. Oh, Lord, I spent so much of my life worrying. Now that I’ve finally got time and space to myself, I don’t want to worry about anyone else.”
“Like Aubrey,” Marilyn said.
“Like Aubrey,” Faye agreed.
“But Faye,” Alice said. “If you don’t stay with Aubrey, then who’s going to worry about you?”
Faye smiled. “Women live longer than men. If we’re lucky, we’ll all live into our nineties. Which means, at least statistically, at some point, we’ll end up alone even if we were with a man, because the man would die sooner. I don’t mind being alone, and I’m not going to constrict my life now to live with a man in order to have someone take care of me when I’m ancient.”
“I think you’re right,” Shirley said. “You don’t want to be with a man just to be with a man. It has to be the right man.”
“Listen to Ann Landers here,” Alice scoffed. “As if she’s ever met the right man in her life.”
“Don’t be mean, Alice!” Shirley shot back. “Just because Fate dropped lovely Gideon in your lap, that doesn’t mean the rest of us are idiots because we haven’t found the perfect guy.”
“No,” Alice agreed. “But some of us are better at making choices. Some of us don’t take such risks.”
Shirley flushed angrily. “I would think by this age you’d realize we can’t see into the future. By now we all know how life sweeps us in strange directions. I think life’s a lot like tacking. Harry says life’s like sailing. Sometimes you have to go sideways”—she made a zigzag motion with her hand—“to get where you want to go.”
“Sometimes,” Polly mused, “life seems like it’s all tacking.”
Alice’s eyes bored into Shirley’s. “Who’s Harry?”
Oh, shit! Shirley thought, mentally slapping herself upside the head. Well, she had to tell them now. She girded her proverbial—and very happy—loins, and waded into battle. “He’s an absolutely wonderful man I’ve met here on the island.” She glanced around at the other women, summoning moral support.
“Oh, yes?” Alice grimaced. “And what does Harry do?”
“He’s retired. He sails and putters and stuff.”
“He lives here all year?” Alice asked. “Does he own his own house?”
“Yes,” Shirley answered. “And yes, he does.” She always had trouble lying to Alice, and now her face took on the guilty cast of a kid fibbing to her parents. If Alice saw Harry’s tumbledown shack of a home, she’d have a fit.
Alice demanded, “What’s it like?”
“It’s small…humble. Oh, damn it, Alice, he doesn’t have much money, all right? But he’s so interesting, and so much fun, and he’s nice to me.”
“This is why you want to sell The Haven!” Alice’s face looked like thunder. “So you can come down here and spend the profit you make on yet another good-looking cad?”
“He’s not a cad!” Shirley protested.
“How do you know?” Alice countered. “Who are his friends on the island?”
Shirley chewed on her thumbnail. “We haven’t spent much time with his friends.”
“Have you spent any time with any friends?” Alice persisted.
“No,” Shirley said in a very small voice. “But Alice, he does own a house and it’s on the water, and he owns a boat. He’s not a bum!”
Faye waved her hands like a choir director. “Calm down, you two. It’s too hot to get so bothered! We can talk about this later tonight, okay? For now, let’s enjoy this gorgeous day. We’re so lucky to be here.”
“Actually,” Polly whispered, leaning forward. “I have to pee.”
Shirley could have kissed Polly. It was the perfect distraction. They all had to pee. They always did.
“There’s a restroom up by the parking lot,” Marilyn told her.
Polly stared up the long long path through the dunes. “I don’t know if I can make it that far.”
“Then let’s all go for a swim!” Faye suggested.
“You mean, I should pee in the ocean?” Polly looked scandalized.
“Oh, come on,” Shirley told her. “Everyone does. It’s a great big ocean out there.”
Polly scanned the shoreline. Hundreds of people floated, swam, and played in the waves.
“It’s really all right,” Marilyn assured her. “After all, the sea weed.”
Polly chortled. “Oh no! Don’t make me laugh!” She stood up, hands on either side of her face to block the view of the others. If she saw them, she’d be unable to stop laughing. “When I laugh, I turn into an automatic sprinkler!”
Faye rose, too, and grabbed Polly’s hand. “Come on. I’ll go in with you.”
“Okay,” Polly said. “But for heaven’s sake, don’t run!”
Shirley looked worried. “Should we swim so soon after eating?”
“We’re not going to swim,” Alice told her. “We’re just going to cool off.”
The five women stepped briskly over the hot sand. When they reached the moist shoreline, a wave brushed up, swirling cool liquid over their ankles. They hesitated.
“It’s cold,” Shirley said.
“No, it’s not,” Faye insisted. “It’s perfect! Come on. All together now!”
The five women joined hands and raced
into the water. Screaming with shock, they danced on the tips of their toes as the glittering waves splashed up past their waists, then their bosoms, then their necks. Polly broke away from the group to swim a few feet away, where she treaded water, smiling blissfully as bubbles rose to the surface.
“You look pleased with yourself,” Alice said when Polly swam back toward them.
Polly giggled. “I’m just remembering that children’s nursery rhyme, ‘The Owl and the Pussycat went to sea in a beautiful pea green boat.’ Now I understand it so much better!”
47
Tuesday evening, in the privacy of her small bedroom on Orange Street, Alice pressed her son’s number on her cell phone.
She’d been away from Alan, Jennifer, and baby Aly for four entire days now. Saturday she’d spent packing and organizing her house for a week’s absence, and Saturday evening she’d spent with Gideon. She’d almost forgotten how much she enjoyed just hanging out with the sweet man. Sunday she’d traveled to the island with the other Hot Flash femmes, Monday they’d all gone to the beach, and today, thank heavens, it had rained, so they’d gone their separate ways. Tonight Faye and Polly were in the kitchen, preparing a Nantucket dinner for them all. Shirley was still not home from wherever it was she biked off to—no doubt a rendezvous with that dubious character, Harry. And Marilyn was soaking in the tub.
So it was a good time to call her son and his family. For this event, Alice had allowed herself, since it was after five o’clock, a nice tall gin and tonic. She hoped the alcohol would help slow her racing heart. She really did not want to have another heart attack. But no matter how many deep breaths she took, her concern about her son and his family set her heart galloping every time.
“Hello?” A strange voice answered.
“Oh.” Alice was puzzled. “I must have the wrong number. I’m looking for Alan Murray.”
“He’s here. Hang on, I’ll get him.”
When her son’s familiar voice came on the line, Alice asked, “Who was that?”
“That’s Greg, Mom.” Alan’s voice was more buoyant than she’d heard it for months. “Jennifer’s cousin, remember?”
“Um…” She closed her eyes, trying to conjure up an image. Vaguely, the acne-spotted face of a hulking kid in a striped rugby shirt swam across her vision.
“You know,” Alan was saying. “Greg graduated from high school this May, and he didn’t want to start college yet, so he’s at loose ends. We asked him to come help us this week, and wow, is he a dynamite worker! I think he’s got Jennifer’s baking genes.”
“Oh,” Alice said again, faintly. “So he’s helping?”
“Helping! I don’t know how we managed without him. He’s so strong, he’s got so much energy, he can do twice as much as Jennifer, and he’s a quick learner, so basically he’s helping me in the bakery and Jennifer’s having a chance to spend time with Aly and just be a mom. Greg is…”
Alice took a hearty swallow of gin and tonic as she listened to Alan enumerate Greg’s endless talents and strengths. Not only was the young man physically powerful and mentally adept, he was fascinated by the baking business, and already they were thinking about arranging for him to work full-time.
“This is wonderful news,” Alice said, when her son finally finished praising Greg.
“I know it is, and for you, too,” Alan told her. “We know we’ve overworked you, Mom. We’ve worried a lot about your heart. This way we won’t need you to babysit so much, and you can really enjoy Aly. How’s your vacation, by the way?”
Alice had to work hard to summon up convincing enthusiasm. “It’s swell. We spent all day yesterday at the beach and today I just sort of loafed around.”
“That’s exactly what you should be doing, Mom!” Alan sounded like he was praising a five-year-old. “I’m so glad you’re taking care of yourself.”
“Thanks,” Alice said weakly. “But if you need me, I can be there in only a few hours…”
“Don’t even think about that!” Alan laughed. “We’ve got it all under control. You just enjoy yourself.”
When Alice hung up the phone, she felt like an hourglass whose middle had expanded—a painfully appropriate metaphor. All the sand wasn’t trickling, it was gushing to the bottom. She was glad her son was working things out. She was glad he’d found the solution to their various problems. She was really, truly, glad that finally she was free from that exhausting drive out to The Haven.
But she hated this feeling of being dispensable. Unnecessary. Put out to pasture. Old.
In the middle of the night, Marilyn lay on her enormous queen-size bed, tossing and turning and feeling terribly alone. She missed Ian’s presence in the bed with her. She missed the slightly operatic crescendo of his snores and the way he reached out for her at odd times in the long night, to clutch her shoulder or arm, as if even in his deepest sleep he needed to know she was there. She missed his warmth. Even though it was a hot August night, she missed his particular warmth.
She’d spoken with him by phone earlier this evening. Their conversation had been pleasant, but brief, and for Marilyn, unsatisfactory. She was glad to know that Ruth was well and happy and she should be glad to know that Fiona had broken out of her paralysis long enough to prepare dinner for Angus, Ruth, Ian, and herself, but it hadn’t been a real source of pleasure to hear how delicious Fiona’s lamb casserole was, how rich, juicy, just like home. Marilyn had never been a gourmet cook. Now she felt inferior and slightly alarmed. What if the way to a man’s heart really was through his stomach?
This was nonsense. She couldn’t sleep, she shouldn’t just lie here wallowing in her misery. She would creep downstairs, fix herself a mug of warm milk, find a novel, and read in the living room. After all, she was on vacation. She could read all night and sleep all day if she wanted to.
Her choice of night wear was simply an extra-large T-shirt that hung almost to her knees. She felt around on her bedside table for her reading glasses, stuck them on top of her head, and padded barefoot out of her room. Quietly, so she wouldn’t wake the others, she sneaked down the stairs, tiptoed down the long hall into the kitchen, turned on the light—
And screamed.
“AAAHHH!” Marilyn stumbled backward, clutching at her throat, into which her heart had leaped like a mouse for a hole.
“AAAHHH!” screamed the intruder, so stunned by Marilyn’s sudden appearance that she dropped the flashlight and the silver pitcher she was holding. They banged on the floor, rolled against the stove, and clanged.
“Oh, my God!” Marilyn cried. “You’re the thief!”
“Nonsense,” scoffed Lucinda Payne. She was very regal as she stood there in her ancient taupe crepe de chine negligee. Every white hair was in place.
“But you have to be the thief,” Marilyn pointed out sensibly, as her heart slowly descended back down into her chest. “I mean, it’s three in the morning, and you’re in our kitchen.”
“What’s going on?”
Alice stormed into the room, waving an umbrella she’d grabbed from the stand in the front hall. Faye, Shirley, and Polly followed, and they all crammed into the kitchen behind Marilyn to stare at Lucinda Payne. The kitchen windows, blacked by night, reflected their images back to them: wide-eyed, their hair shooting out in all directions, as disheveled and disoriented as a pack of lunatics who’d just broken out of the asylum and then forgotten what they were doing.
“Oh, my God!” Faye exclaimed. “You’re the thief!”
“I am not.” Lucinda was indignant. “I was only returning this silver ice bucket I borrowed a while ago.” She glanced down at the container, glittering forlorn next to the stove.
Alice put her hands on her hips. “You can’t be returning that. We used it last night!”
“This is wonderful!” Shirley cried. “We found out who the thief is! I can’t wait to call Nora and tell her!”
“No! You mustn’t!” Lucinda Payne’s aristocratic, arrogant face suddenly cracked before their eyes into
a starburst of lines and fissures, and with a rusty creak, like a faucet being turned after years of neglect, she burst into tears.
For a moment the five Hot Flash Club friends stood frozen with shock.
Then Faye gently suggested, “I think we should all sit down.”
“I’ll make tea,” Polly added softly. She approached the stove slowly, as if afraid to startle the white-haired woman standing next to it. With careful moves, she bent, picked up the ice bucket and flashlight, and set them gently on the counter.
Shirley, who now felt hideously guilty for driving the older woman into what looked like the first crying jag of her entire life, crossed the kitchen floor and pulled a chair out from the table for her. She wasn’t brave enough to touch the haughty older woman, even if Lucinda was in tears.
Lucinda sank into the chair. She covered her face with her hands, then pulled her hands away, looking mystified at the wetness on her fingertips.
Marilyn rushed to pull some tissues from the dispenser. She handed them to Lucinda.
Polly bustled around, setting the tea kettle on the burner and filling the Limoges teapot with hot water to warm the pot, the way she knew Lucinda would want it to be done. Alice opened the cookie jar and assembled an assortment of ginger snaps, almond macaroons, and lemon bars on a delicate, painted porcelain plate. She set the plate on the table, near Lucinda. Marilyn poured cream into the antique Limoges cream pitcher. Faye zipped into the dining room to fetch silver teaspoons and heavy cloth napkins which she brought back and placed around.
When Lucinda lifted her face from her soggy tissues, she looked even older than she had before. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her nose bright magenta, her wrinkled skin deathly pale. She looked haggard. She looked exhausted. She looked crushed.
“Here you are.” Marilyn placed a thin china teacup on its matching saucer in front of Lucinda.
Polly poured tea into the pot. “Sugar? Cream?”
Lucinda shook her head abruptly. Then she sighed, an enormous, surrendering sigh, picked up the cup, and sipped her tea.
The five other women settled in their chairs and for a few moments devoted themselves to preparing their own tea.